


Take Me Back to the Start

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bittersweet, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Second Chances, Songfic, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5190011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's moved back into Baker Street, so Sherlock takes him to Angelo's. When so much has changed, let's go back to the start</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Back to the Start

**Author's Note:**

> I totally had [The Scientis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RB-RcX5DS5A)t by Coldplay stuck in my head while writing this.

John set down the last box and stretched, looking around his old room. Now his current room. Mary had been left behind and Baker Street was home again. It was all much as it had been when he’d first moved in. The room was small, somewhere between cozy and claustrophobic. Recently dusted, with a window just above the bed, it had clearly once been an attic or maybe servants quarters. The walls were covered with faded paper. Mrs. Hudson had fussed about replacing it, but John had liked it. It made the place looked lived in, even when everything was still new. The few boxes he’d brought with him were stacked neatly against one wall and the other held a small desk and a narrow closet. For not the first time in his life, John was glad he never owned much.

Sherlock came to the doorway, reminding John that things would never quite be as they were, no matter how familiar the setting. He glanced at Sherlock's reflection in the window. He still looked tired and drawn, recovering from the bullet to his chest. _Surgery_. Bullshit. 

“Would you care to go to dinner?” Sherlock asked. 

John gave the reflection a slight smile. “Sure,” he said, squaring his shoulders and turning to look at him. “Where did you have in mind?”

“I know a place,” said Sherlock with that vaguely mysterious smile he had when he was up to something. John knew better than to question it.

They pulled on coats and headed down the street. John had a suspicion, but he said nothing until they stopped in front of Angelo’s. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” he said quietly, remembering another evening. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Indeed,” said Sherlock, getting the door for them. Angelo exclaimed a greeting at them and showed them to the same table they’d had that first night. 

“Not looking for murderous cabbies this time?” asked John, only half-joking.

“Not so far as I’m aware, no.” Sherlock glanced up as Angelo set a candle on the table and gave them a wink. “You should eat,” he told John.

“We both should,” he answered. “I know hospital food isn’t that great.”

Sherlock inclined his head and before long Angelo brought them both out plates. The silence was comforting, familiar. Sherlock did eat a few bites, watching out the window like he had before.

“John, what do real people have in their real lives?” he asked, not quite looking at him.

“Friends,” answered John, almost without thought. The conversation from that night was all but seared into his memory. It was the night he knew that Sherlock would never be his, but he’d follow him into hell anyway. “People they know, people they like, people they don’t like. Boyfriends, girlfriends...do you have a girlfriend?”

John watched a small smile play across Sherlock’s face as he kept his eyes on the window. “Not really my area.”

Heart skipping in his chest, John took a bite of food and kept his eyes on Sherlock. “Boyfriend then? Which is fine, by the way.”

Sherlock looked at him. “I know it’s fine. And no.”

John licked his lips. This was the point that Sherlock had told him he was flattered but he considered himself married to his work. He waited a few heartbeats, but the words never came. Steeling himself, expecting Sherlock to pull away, John reached over and touched Sherlock’s elegant fingers. “It is fine,” he said quietly. “And any man would be lucky to have you.”

“John,” he said quietly, looking away, as if not trusting himself to speak.

“I don’t think either of us are in shape to go running across rooftops tonight, and I’m reasonably certain Lestrade isn’t planning a drugs bust. Do you want to go home?” John curled his fingers around Sherlock’s, not quite holding his hand.

Sherlock nodded. Angelo gave them a grin and a thumbs up as they gathered their coats. John got the door for Sherlock.

Stepping out, they turned the corner and headed for home. Taking another breath, John reached over and took Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock gripped tightly, as if afraid John would vanish. John found that a bit bitterly ironic, but pushed those feelings aside. Sherlock was here, with him, and he was here with Sherlock. That was the most important thing. And it had been very nearly something that could never happen again.

That night, all those years ago, it had been John chasing after Sherlock, Sherlock leading the way, up until he’d been lured out on his own. Then John had showed his worth and it had cemented...whatever this was between them.

Time, tide and death couldn’t change a word of that.

They stepped into the flat and took off their coats. Sherlock shifted nervously, not quite looking at John, clearly uncertain about their next steps. John took his hand again and tugged him into a slow dance, the wedding dance that should have been.

Sherlock sighed softly and leaned against him. John did his best not to step on his feet. There was no music, of course, so when it felt right, John simply brought them to a stop and leaned up to kiss Sherlock, so very gently, their lips barely touched.

“John,” breathed Sherlock, chasing after his kiss.

Smiling softly, John kissed him more soundly, watching Sherlock. He’d never seen such a vulnerable expression on his face.

When they broke apart, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he looked down at John, arms still wrapped around him. Sherlock studied his face a moment. “You want this. You want me.”

“I’ve always wanted you, Sherlock. But this isn’t about all that lost time. This is about us, right here and now.” John reached up and cupped his cheek. “Just us.”

Sherlock nodded and leaned down to kiss him again. This time John slipped his tongue past soft lips, making Sherlock moan softly. It was the single most erotic thing John had ever heard in his life. “Bedroom,” he whispered when they broke apart again.

He took Sherlock’s hand and led him back. This room too, looked more or less the same as it always had. If there had been anything of Janine here, it was gone. The two of them against the world, as it always was and should be.

John guided Sherlock to sit on the bed, standing between his legs. He kissed Sherlock again as his deft fingers started unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt. He hadn’t gotten far before Sherlock put his hands on his wrists to still him.

“Sherlock?” asked John pulling back to look at him. He realized he’d been stopped right above the bullet scar. “It’s okay,” he said with a smile. “All fine, remember?” He watched Sherlock’s face as he undid the next button and the one after that. Sherlock kept his hands on John’s wrists, but made no further move to stop him. 

The scar was relatively small for such a major thing. The scar on John’s shoulder was much worse, but that was because it was an exit wound. Sherlock didn’t have one of those, and it had been one of the major factors in his not-quite death. Meeting Sherlock’s eyes, John leaned down and planted a kiss just above the scar. Sherlock’s breath caught and he raised one trembling hand to run it through John’s hair. Smiling up at him, John finished unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt and pushed it from his shoulders.

“There are more,” said Sherlock softly, turning a bit so John could see the gouges on his back. There were others scars too, besides the major ones, small, faded marks that were barely noticeable unless you’d spent as much time patching up Sherlock Holmes as John had.

“It doesn’t matter,” said John, kissing Sherlock’s throat and stroking his hands down his skin. Sherlock was thin too, probably the drugs and everything else that had been going on. It was a good thing he’d made him eat tonight.

Sherlock reached up and tugged at John’s jumper, pulling it over his head before starting on his buttons. John knew he bore his own scars from their time apart, though they were on his heart more than his body.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Sherlock, as if reading his mind.

John smiled softly and shrugged out of his shirt, peeling off his undershirt. “I told you Sherlock, I forgive you.” He gently pushed Sherlock back onto the bed and crawled over him, sipping kisses from his lips and tangling a hand in his hair. Sherlock’s hand moved down his back until it came to rest just above his arse.

“I want you,” said Sherlock, the slightest bit of tremble in his voice, as if he were baring his deepest secret. 

John raised his head and saw Sherlock’s eyes were closed. He cupped Sherlock’s cheek until the pale verdigris eyes opened and met his. “I want you, too.”

“It’s always you, John Watson,” said Sherlock, biting his lip.

John shifted down, kissing along his chest, his ribs, his stomach. He glanced at Sherlock and undid his trousers, knowing they were truly crossing a point of no return.

Sherlock swallowed hard and nodded. John tugged his trousers down and off, leaving his pants alone for now. He got off the bed and toed off his shoes. Watching Sherlock he pushed off his own trousers, then he hooked his hands in his pants and slid them off.

“John,” breathed Sherlock, reaching for him. John got back into bed and Sherlock lay him down, kissing his lips, his throat, moving down his body, exploring, probably cataloging and memorizing. A lot of it he’d already seen at one time or another, but never this close. And he’d certainly never tasted John like this, his tongue sliding over one budding nipple, drawing a moan from John and making his hips rise.

“You like being touched,” deduced Sherlock, running his hands down John’s body. “Not in your everyday life. But that just makes you crave it all the more when you are intimate.”

John shrugged. “Probably so. Come here and kiss me.”

Sherlock moved back up to oblige. John cupped Sherlock’s cock through his pants, rubbing the head of it with his thumb, the fabric dragging across the sensitive skin.

“You’ve been with men before,” said Sherlock. “But not many.”

“Also true. Now, let’s see if I can get that brain of yours to stop working so hard.” John rolled Sherlock onto his back and shifted down, tugging his pants off and swallowing his cock.

Sherlock cried out, gripping the bedsheets, moaning and rocking against him. It may have been a long time since he’d been with a man, but John remembered this, knew just how much pressure to use, how to use his tongue. Sherlock was gasping and writhing underneath him, very quickly already near to coming. John imagined it had been even longer for Sherlock since anyone had touched him like this.

“Shh, it’s okay love,” said John, raising his head, the endearment slipping out.

Sherlock’s eyes went wide. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Sherlock surged forward, kissing John hungrily as he landed on his back. John groaned as Sherlock’s large hand worked between them and he grasped both of their cocks. John bucked into his grip, groaning at the sensation, almost overwhelmed by all of it. Sherlock bit John’s lower lip and they came together, moaning into one another’s mouths, John holding the back of Sherlock’s neck as if to keep him in place.

It was Sherlock that moved first, flopping to one side and panting heavily before rolling onto his side and curling around John. John pet his curls, his own heart still racing. He kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

“Neither am I,” said Sherlock.

They lay there together. John thought about all that had happened.There was more to come, but for now, at least, Sherlock was dozing off in his arms, and all was right with the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to beltainefaerie for the beta.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
